Late Night Journal
by Mustardlover16
Summary: Late night thoughts and memories from our favorite crime fighting blonde! A collection of one shot stories from Felicity's point of view. Stories with Dig, Roy, Olly and more. Not all of them will be romance/humor.


So, here's the thing. There's this...mask. This shadowy figure striking fear into the hearts of lame-ass punks on the streets and hard-on career criminals alike.

He stalks his prey.

He's got eyes everywhere.

Government conspiracy.

Vigilante.

Is he human?

I heard he never misses.

At least they got that one right.

But the thing is...He's just a man. Pure crazy? Hell yes. But human, all the same. You'd think of all the cops and wanna be strike-it-rich bloggers one of them would get that right, at least.

Vigilante? That's not what I'd call him. He's just... a guy down on his luck. A guy doing the best he can to bring a little hope into this messed up world. Out of the goodness of his heart. Just a man.

A guardian angel? Mine, at least. Looks about like an angel, or least something blessed by _someone _high up. If you took a picture of St. Michael the arc angel, added a bow and arrows a little goatee, maybe photo-shop a little mask on, I bet you'd see some resemblance. Maybe they're distant cousins, or something. I did it once, photo-shopped a picture of St. Michael. He laughed. Just hung up his bow after a night of saving the world, shaking his head and smiling. Dig howled. Thought it was freaking hysterical. Even Roy had a laugh.

The best part about him isn't his looks though (which, admittedly are _very beautiful_). It's his heart. That's the best. It's all locked away behind masks and heavily armored men in hoods, but if you're really sneaky, really careful, you can get past those. Try chewing on a red pen. Worked for me. See, the thing is, no matter what he has or what he doesn't, no matter what crap is stewing around making his life suck, he just plows through it like it doesn't matter. To him I guess it doesn't. He's a family man. Got a soft spot for the people he calls his own. He's sharp and clever and devoted. He's just... a really good guy.

Which is totally annoying. I mean, like, _Hello! Earth to Oliver, I'm trying to not stare like an idiot but you're making it super hard._ He's frustrating like that. Stubborn as sin, too. God, don't get me started on that. Like, if you think I talk a lot now, you should see me talk about the bullheadedness of that one man.

Another thing-He's not perfect. Which is kind of hot. Among most other things he does. Example-he's dedicated. Most of the time he's way too invested into things that are likely to get him killed. He's always running around and getting the crap beat out of him. And then we stitch him up just to see him run off again. If we didn't patch him up though, he'd do it himself. Has before. He's lucky to have us. We're lucky to have him.

And another thing you should know. I love him. But, don't tell him that because he'd get super paranoid about people coming after him because of who he is, and it would just make everything so much more complicated (yeah, that's possible). That's yet another thing about Oliver. Everything is so complicated with him. Nothing clear cut, nothing black and white. Unless he says it is, and then suddenly you're back to being confused.

Yeah, he's a confusing, irritating, possibly psycho-lunatic who wears _tight _green leather and jumps off buildings at night_. _Just your friendly neighborhood down on his luck millionaire.

Pretty much sums him up.

Harkening back to my previous statement-I love him. You should be warned: I've never been in love before, so it's hard to say what it feels like. I've always like the idea of a hero, though. And I am sure that I love him. And I'm, like, 99.98% positive he loves me. But, like I said. Complicated.

He is a hero. That's why I love him. Not because he's rich (he's not anymore). Not because he says things that make me feel like I'm the only one in the room when seconds before there were thousands. Not because he just seems to swoop in and save me every time I feel I'm drowning. Not even because he makes life seem worth living because he makes me realize that _someone, somewhere _is doing _something _ that makes this town seem a little less hellish. Nope. None of those. It's just 'cause he's a hero. I mean, _come on._ Who doesn't love a hero? All protective and hard-shelled exterior. Mysterious. Gooey and warm as a fresh baked chocolate chip cookie on the inside.

And just like all the other heroes in the story book he doesn't even know how good he is. I mean, just tonight, he limps in after just tying up some loose ends on a drug ring we busted a few weeks back, right? Just limps in, barely winces. His leg's broken. Freaking shattered. Good luck explaining that one to Thea, Olly. But not the point. The point is, he pulls of his hood, hangs up the bow. Starts removing all the hidden weapons from his person. First empties his shoes. This his waistband. Sleeves. Inside pocket of his jacket. The space in the small of his back. Quiver. Unzips his jacket. Up on the dummy Arrow/armor holder.

Then he just sits, winces once. And he sighs. Just sighs. He looks at me, sees me staring at his leg. Glances down and shrugs. _Shrugs. _Just rolls his shoulders like, "Hey, kids these days. What can you do?" And then he splints his leg with some mild cursing under his breath. And then it's like it never happened.

All that work. Literally blood, sweat and (well, no, not tears. Oliver's a man's man, he doesn't cry). _No big deal. All in a day's work. _You know, there are people out there who have the nerve to call for _his arrest. _To call for his blood. They're effing stupid. A bunch of Jack-asses, the lot of them.

He throws his arm over my shoulder at my behest and I help him wobble up the stairs. Help is a little bit of an overstatement. He'd never put his full weight on me if he could help it. He's too worried about me for that. Too worried about everybody but the one person one the planet who really deserves that kind of attention-himself. Not that he'd ever agree with me on that.

At the top of the stairs he just kind of looks at me. And I look at him. He's got the look in his eye- the weary one he has at the end of a very long, very painful day. It's the one he tries to hide from me because he knows I'll worry. The one he never hides well enough because I _know _him-have the privilege of really knowing him.

"Oliver.."

"I know, Felicity."

"You gotta-"

"Stop. No speeches tonight. I'm tired." An admission. Small to the average human. He is not average. To him, this is a huge vulnerability. "God, I'm tired."

"I'll drive you home."

"Can't go home. Not like this. Can't risk Thea seeing me like this."

"What are you gonna do, stay here all night? There's no bed, Olly, no where to rest." His eyes are down glaring at the floor. Mine rest on his face. The bags under his eyes. The bruises already starting to form.

"I don't know what I'm going to do." He's not just talking about his sleeping arrangements tonight.

"You don't have to know. Not this time. I'll know for you, give your oversized head a rest. You can crash at my place. Come on." I grab his hand, manage to snag his index and middle finger. They are rough and calloused from pulling bowstrings taut day in and day out at guys who have it coming.

"No, Felicity. I can't. I can't take advantage of you any more than I already do."

"It's not exactly taking advantage if I consent. Besides you save people all the time. Give some of us lesser being a chance to seem important." His eyes blaze up from the floor.

"Don't stay stuff like that. You are important." His voice has a hard edge to it. Not a mean one, just a firm one. "You are one of the most important people in the world. You," he smiles ruefully, "You are..." a pause. So close. He was so close to letting me in. Still, how could I be mad at him after saying something like that? I adjust my glasses, allow myself to smile.

"Come on, Mr. Queen. Off to fight the latest bad guy, Captain Insomnia." A big Oliver Queen smile. Felicity: 1. Oliver: 0.

A short car ride later and we're at my duplex. Keys out, _click, _and we're in. Home free. I throw my coat and purse and keys onto a chair, head for my bedroom. I get out some old blankets and a couple pillows off the bed. Frilly, and overstuffed, but I doubt he'll mind the pillow casing. He's leaning against the counter that backs up to the kitchen, bashfully. That's a sight. The illustrious Mr. Oliver Queen. Once the world's most eligible bachelor. Bashful. In my house. There is a God.

"Listen, Felicity, I really appreciate this."

"Yeah, sure Oliver. I don't mind. As long as you don't mind these." I held up a my little pony fleece blanket. I have no idea where in God's name in came from.

"God..." He mock grimaced, "The humiliation. I don't know if I can."

"Yeah, well, it's no 10,000 count cotton linen but-"

"No, no. I didn't mean to be-"

"No, it's fine I was joking-"

"I only meant-"

"It's okay-"

"Sorry."

Awkward...

Super Awkward...

"Anyway we should probably get some sleep."

"Yeah, you're right. Course." He nods. And we both stay right where we are.

An excruciating thirty second pause.

"Want to watch some TV?"

Relief floods his eyes, "Yes." Immediate answer.

Pixels flare to life. _Bones. _It's a rerun of an episode of Bones. Booth and Brennan are on a case... Suddenly it's hard to keep my eyes open. They're undercover...? Scenes don't make since. It seems like whole parts are skipped.

Suddenly it's Sunday morning and the stupid sun is shining in right through my blinds. I fell asleep on the couch. I shake my head to dispel the grogginess. Oliver is slouched but perpendicular on my sofa. Head leaning back against the back of the couch. Eyes closed, breathing slow, mouth slightly open, calm. It's very rare to see him this still. He wears his worry, even in sleep. My feet are tucked under his thigh. My head rests on the arm rest, and I am tucked into the space between him and my end of the couch, laying down the best I can. He shifts. His hand comes to rest on my ankle. It's probably nothing. Just, something unconscious he did in his sleep. No big deal.

His lips move. No sound comes out. But I would swear... Cross my heart, that he mouthed a word. One word. It almost looked like... Felicity.

I snap a picture of him covered in my MLP blanket-just for proof- shoot a quick glance at Oliver and settle back down. And just after I closed my eyes I could barely hear him say, "Important."


End file.
